


Sleepless Paradise

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Insomnia, Prompt Fill, unanswered questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insomnia has it's hold on the German mechanic who paces the room, confessing dark pieces of her past. The wall is in the rear view mirror, but it doesn't mean she has forgotten the fear that comes from lying awake in East Berlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless Paradise

Gaby doesn’t sleep well. Insomnia usually keeps her awake, all while winding away at the liquor cart in the corner of the hotel room. Her bare feet carve a path in the plush carpet as she paces back and forth. Her dark hair sticks to her neck as the heat of the night sinks in and she starts speaking low under her breath. The crystal tumbler is pressed against her lips and she throws back another splash of dark amber liquor. It burns across the edge of her tongue and along the back of her throat reminding her she is very much alive and very much awake. German words leave her lips again as she tilts the crystal glass all the back, emptying it before she sets the glass down. The hotel room is practically silent. Their mission is over and tomorrow they will go back to London when Waverly calls, but for now they are recovering. Solo is in an adjoining room, licking his wounds and Illya has made himself at home on her couch. His hat is pulled over his golden head and he hasn’t moved in over an hour. Gaby passes in front of him a few times, waving her fingers in his face. She even asks questions, but he doesn’t answer.

No one answers her. The room is silent all except from the sounds of her feet scuffing against the carpet. She’s tempted to turn on the radio but decides against it. It’s rare for Illya to sleep in front of one of them. He is usually wound so tight she doesn’t even see him relax when he’s bent over his chessboard. Now though, now he is wedged back against the arm of the couch with his head down and eyes closed.

“You are not so scary.” Gaby drawls, pointing her index finger at his sleeping form. She’s drunk. Her words are slightly slurred and the edges of her vision is blurry but she stands up tall anyways, like she’s accusing him of putting on an act. Her pointed finger shakes for a moment and Illya doesn’t move. He doesn’t get up or scoff at her, he doesn’t even exhale. He looks almost peaceful in the afterglow of a mission. A bruise is blossoming over his left cheek and she fights the urge to reach out and touch it as she moves to sit across from him on the small table next to the couch. Gaby sits on the edge of the table and props her head up on a closed fist, staring at Illya with a look of determination in her brows.

“I do not get you.” She finally says as the silence ticks on. She fills the room with the sound of her voice. It’s a one sided interrogation as she thinks of Rome. Her head is full of near kisses as she watches his sleeping form. He doesn’t kiss her but he protects her. His hands constantly brush along hers and when she turns her head too quickly, she catches him watching her. So now she watches him, muttering softly under her breath. “You don’t like to dance but you like to stay close.”

Her eyes flick around their shared hotel room. Another mission, another lie – they’re engaged, again. She looks down at her hand and holds it up in front of his sleeping face wiggling her ring finger with his fake pearl, “I love this.” She confesses, “Because I never got any of this in Berlin. I never got the radio or the dancing. They would come in the night if they heard anything that sounded remotely like fun. Tear it away from you like it’s theirs to have”

Like an adult scolding a child. 

Her lips turn down into a small frown as she slowly lowers her hand, letting it spill into her lap as she practically folds at the waist. Gaby’s forehead touches her knees as she digs her toes into the carpet, “I am used to much scarier things than you.” Her voice is low against her legs as she closes her eyes, remembering the way the headlights would creep across windows as the police searched for their next home to raid. East Berlin was a nightmare. One she couldn’t outrun, but she could elude sleep. Avoiding sleep seemed easiest. She wouldn’t have to go back, not even in her dreams.

“I used to keep a bag packed by the fire escape. One day I would get over that wall. With or without permission.” She felt her lips tick up into one of those smirks as she remembered wrapping her arms around Solo and watching as Illya chased her down.

“And I did, without your permission.” She added with a soft snicker. The alcohol in her belly is settling in and Gaby forces her eyes open, digging her elbows into her thighs as she sits up once more, watching Illya sleep. He looks so peaceful and she wants a piece of that. Moving forward she slides off the coffee table and sits on the edge of the couch cushion. Her smaller form fits easily in the space as she presses her face into the front of his sweater covered chest. Her nose presses into the fabric and she inhales, letting her eyes close once more. She feels heavy and safe. Illya must be exhausted because he doesn’t move when she invades his space. Under the fabric of his turtleneck she can hear the steady beat of his heart as her thoughts linger on Berlin.

“You wouldn’t let me go back now, would you?”

Her question hangs in the air, unanswered.

**Author's Note:**

> Another short, answered prompt from tumblr! Thank you so much for reading. I actually had a lot of fun writing this one! Don't be afraid to send me prompts or just stop by to talk shop.


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